


Runaway, Runaway, Run Away With Me

by Smokeycut



Category: DC Comics, New 53 - Fandom
Genre: AU, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Trans!Constantine, Trans!Zatanna, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-08 15:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeycut/pseuds/Smokeycut
Summary: Zatanna knows that who she is isn't accepted at home, and so she decides that she'd rather be herself than live there. And then she runs into some jerk in a trenchcoat named John...





	1. Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [New 53](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/366624) by Sqoiler/AlmondRose. 



> This fic is based on my friend Rosie's "New 53" AU, which you should go check out! I absolutely adore her versions of John and Zee.

She stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, studying her eyes. The mascara made them look... wider? Larger. Softer, for sure. She wished she could keep them looking that way forever. Her hair, black and wavy, was longer than it had ever been before, reaching past her chin and nearing her shoulders. Her dad kept telling her that they were going to go get it cut, but he never remembered to follow up on that threat. He didn't know it was a threat, of course, but to her it certainly was.

She was restless, but she didn't dare actually do anything about it. She loafed around her bedroom for an hour, grateful to be alone in the house, and only looking at her mirror image eighteen more times in that period. She batted her eyelashes, played with different facial expressions, and relished in the opportunity that she had been given. The opportunity to see a piece of herself. Her real self. The one that nobody knew existed but her.

They called her a boy, used a name that was too harsh on her ears. It all felt so alien to her, but it just wasn't possible to change it. Only in small moments like these, windows of a half hour, hour at a time, when she was alone. In those moments she felt more like herself than she had in the past sixteen years of her life. When fifty minutes had passed, she finally washed off the makeup in the bathroom, and dried her face on a towel. She slipped back into her room, grabbed the mascara off of her dresser, and hid it in a shoebox under her bed. Her father would be home any time in the next twenty minutes, and she didn't dare risk him seeing what she had done. But she still had one thing left she could do, one last thing to make her feel more true, until he got back. In her closet, buried on the far right side, behind several coats and suit jackets, was a hanger with her most prized possession on it. She pulled it out and held it against her body, and looked at her reflection once more.

It was a black dress that reached down to her knees, with a scalloped neckline. Small golden details in the shape of flowers lined the bottom of it's skirt. She had saved for weeks and weeks to afford it, putting away a chunk of each week's allowance for that reason alone. Keeping it a secret from her father was hard, especially with his abilities, but she managed. When she looked at it, when she even dared to wear it some days, she felt as though she was on top of the world. It was the greatest sensation ever, to feel like she was no longer lying about herself. Nothing could ruin that for her.

Until that moment. 

She heard a light popping noise, like the flash of an old camera, just on the other side of her bedroom door, and immediately afterwards her father pulled the door open. He was speaking excitedly, as he often did.

"I just got great news, kiddo! _Zatarra the Great_ is gonna be performing at..."

He trailed off, his eyes locking onto the sight of his child, holding the dress in her hands. The child he had always thought of as his son. She was petrified, unable to move so much as an inch, due to the fear she felt. The emotions on his face shifted away from shock, and that just made it worse. Not towards anger, he was rarely an angry man. No, he looked at her with a sense of disappointment, of shame. He stepped further into the room, and yanked the dress from her hands. She was left there, silent, as he muttered a spell.

"Nrub," he said. His voice was low, but he may as well have been shouting. The dress combusted, and the flames quickly turned it to ash on her carpet. Another word spoken backwards left the floor clean, but she still felt filthy and dirty and ashamed. There was a reason she had tried to keep it a secret. He didn't speak a word to her for the rest of the day, or the next. He didn't bring her along to act as his assistant at his next show. She stayed at home, in her room. 

She left her mascara untouched.

Two days after that night, she made a decision. She knew it was one that couldn't be walked back on, but she also knew that the point of no return had _already_ been passed. She snuck into her father's library, and tossed several of his tombs and grimoires into her school bag. She took the rest of her saved allowances, her tube of mascara, and as much food as she could. At the last moment, she stuffed a blanket into her bag, and spoke the magic word.

"Raeppasid," she said, performing the spell without flaw. In a flash and with a pop, she was gone. Never again would she set foot inside that home.

••••••••••••••••••••

She was lucky for one thing, she came to realize during her time on her own. Growing up in a house full of magic, assisting with her father's shows, she had become more than adept with casting illusions. And when you're technically homeless, illusions come in handy. Scraps of paper pass for hundred dollar bills, that's more than enough for a night's stay in a hotel, or new clothes when she needs them. Over time, the change she got from those counterfeits was enough to keep her afloat genuinely. As genuinely as it could be called, at least.

It was at the end of her first month that something finally occurred to her. She wasn't constrained by her father's lack of understanding any longer. She could be the woman she wanted to be, and nothing could hold her back from that anymore. She needn't confine herself to baggy jeans and hoodies. She wasn't going to hide ever again.

She spent what felt like hours searching through the racks of clothes, picking out whatever her heart desired. A long black skirt and fishnet stockings, a white corset and tall black boots with chunky heels. She noticed the stares, of course. Some seemed judgmental, but a few others seemed almost proud. The clerk, a baldheaded individual with heavy makeup and sleeve tattoos, smiled as they cashed her out. They even suggested she stop by a beauty store not far away. She took their advice, and by the time she returned to her hotel, she was carrying the start of an entirely new her.

The first time she tried the clothes on, she felt awkward, and a fair bit guilty. Was this really worth leaving behind everything she had before? The questions rattled around in her head as she tried to focus on doing her makeup. She just couldn't tell, was this the right thing for her to do? But when she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she knew that it was. She laughed and she cried, and she felt her heart _sing_. She looked beautiful.

She felt beautiful.


	2. Constantine

"And what do I call you, luv?"

The question hung in the air for a moment as the boy lit his cigarette. He leaned back against the brick wall of the alley as he smoked, fixing his hair with one hand. His eyes were a cold blue, and his hair dirty blond. The brown trench coat he wore was old and well worn, and the white dress shirt beneath it was dirty from the recently finished fight.

They had only met less than five minutes ago.

She was heading to her most recent home, a small motel in Blüdhaven, when she decided to take a shortcut through an alley. The sun was still going down, casting an orange-red light over the city. She figured she was safe enough. But no sooner had she entered it that she heard someone speak from behind her.

"Lucky, lucky, lucky. I was just thinking about how you'd make a _tasty_ little meal, and now we're all alone," the voice purred. It was low, rasping, and made her skin crawl. When she whipped around to face it's owner, she came face to face with a lanky man dressed in all black. His skin was chalk white, his eyes bloodshot, his hair long and black and greasy, and his bared teeth showed off a pair of fangs. "Word from the wise, kid; never go into an alley late at night. You might meet a guy like me."

She had never dealt with vampires before, but her father had told her about his experiences with them. All of the classic weaknesses were true, of course, but so were the powers. It made for an even fight, if you were carrying their various poisons. She wasn't. Not even a cross around her neck. But that didn't mean she was defenseless, and it still thought she was just a regular human being. That gave her the element of surprise.

As quick as she could, she lifted her hand and uttered an incantation. With a cry of "Erif!", a stream of flames burst forward from her palm, and drove the beast back. He snarled at her, and his fingernails extended into razor sharp claws. In an instant, he leaped forward and grabbed her, pushing her up against one of the alley walls and clamping one hand over her mouth.

"Just lost your speaking privileges, sweetheart," he hissed. "Now be a good little doll and die quietly. Nobody's gonna come running if you try screamin' for help."

But they weren't as alone as either of them had thought. Someone coughed from the other end of the alley, and when both heads turned to look, they saw the boy with the trench coat and blond hair.

"Oi, bloodsucker, leave the lass alone," he said calmly and with a thick British accent, stepping closer. His hands were jammed in his pockets, and he didn't look all that concerned by the situation at hand. Either he was an idiot, or he had experience with these kinds of things. But she also noticed that he couldn't be any older than she was, still in his late teens. She'd have to get his story after this was all over, she thought.

While the vampire was distracted, she brought her knee up into his crotch, hard. It groaned and fell away from her, but soon recovered. Still, it gave her an escape, and she took it, dashing over to the boy. 

"Please tell me you know magic," she whispered to him.

"Not any that'll help us here," he said, still perfectly calm.

"Then why the hell are you acting all cool?!"

He didn't say anything in return. Instead, he pulled his right hand out of his coat pocket, clutching an open flask. As the vampire rushed towards them, the boy tossed the flask's contents at it. Water splashed against the vampire's face and began to bubble and hiss, smoke rising where it made contact with skin. As the monster writhed in pain, the boy looked at her and smirked.

"Alright then," she said, impressed. "Now it's my turn. Dnilb Mih!" She shouted, pointing a finger at their enemy. It's red eyes shifted black, and it looked up in confusion. It's face was burned, it couldn't see, and it was angrier than ever. It lashed out with it's claws, cutting her arm and knocking her into the boy. 

He fell over onto his side, and scrambled to his feet as fast as he could manage. Still, the vampire kept swinging wildly, trying to hit whatever it could. The boy tried to toss more holy water at it, but it wasn't enough to stop the creature from attacking. So he acted on instinct, and punched the vampire in it's face as it lumbered towards the girl. It hissed, and turned in his direction, swiping at him.

"Niahc sih mra!" she shouted, just in time. A glowing metal chain sprang forth from the brick wall and wrapped around the vampire's arm, stopping it just inches away from it's would-be target. Seizing the opportunity, the boy pulled a small wooden stake from his pocket and plunged it into the vampire's chest. Black smoke billowed out from the wound, and a sick, burning smell rose with it. The creature hissed one last time, before crumbling to smoldering ash on the ground.

The night stood silent between the two remaining figures for a moment or two as they looked at the remains of the creature. Then, they looked to each other, and saw the fear on each other's faces. And the relief. And then they laughed. A small chuckle at first, just out of thanks that they were still alive. But the laughter grew, until they were wiping tears from their eyes. The boy tucked the stake and holy water back into his coat pockets, and she got a good look at him for the first time. 

He was short, shorter than most boys she had met. His features were softer, too, and there was no sign of any facial hair that he had shaved recently. His voice, when he spoke, was _trying_ to sound deep. At the same time, he began to notice things about her. The fact that she wore a choker to hide her adam's apple. Her stronger jawline. The deepness of her voice when she was casting her spells. 

For the first time in either of their lives, they felt like they had met someone who understood what it was like to be them.

"I'm John," he told her. "John Constantine. Call me anything else, I'll punch you in the throat. And what do I call you, luv?"

"Zatanna," she said quickly. She left out the last name intentionally. She hadn't used it once in the year that had passed since she had run away from home. "My name is Zatanna."

"Shit, you've got a better name than me. I go and call myself John, and you pick out Zatanna? Bloody hell, you’re makin' me look like a chump in comparison," he said with a small laugh. He blew smoke out into the alley and looked her up and down. "Nice look, by the by. The whole goth princess thing works for you."

"Thanks. You look like... a homeless conman," Zatanna admitted.

"I _am_ a homeless conman. 'Course, if you've got a place to stay, we could fix that homeless part..."

"Follow me, Constantine," she said with a soft smile, leading him down towards the end of the alley.

"Wherever you lead, Zee."

••••••••••••••••••••

"You oughta teach me magic sometime," John said, tossing his coat down on the bed and sitting beside it. He rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand through his hair.

"Not everyone can learn magic. You have to be the right kind of person. _Homo Magi_. Have you ever used magic before? Not rituals, _real_ magic." Zatanna picked up a tome off of the motel room's dresser and opened it up. She searched for a rather simple spell.

"A couple times. Illusions, mostly. But I want real magic. That's why I came here. The big stuff, the kinda stuff you can do." John looked at her with a grin. "What do you say, luv? You teach me magic, I teach you how to properly pull a con."

Zatanna considered the offer, then sighed and took a seat on the bed next to John. "Alright, deal. Here, let's start with this one," she told him, pointing at a passage in the book. "It's a minor hex. Cast it on, uh... this!" 

She searched for a test target, grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the far side of the room. John read the passage over several times, and Zatanna demonstrated the hand motions for him. He imitated them, aiming his hand at the pillow. Upon the last hand motion, blue light arced through the air in front of John’s hand, lacing around itself and forming the shape of a pentacle. The light shined brighter, and the pillow was launched into the air with magical energy ripping through it like a bolt of lightning.

"Nice job. Not many people can get that on their first try," Zatanna said, somewhat impressed.

"Did you?" John asked, staring at his hand with pride.

"Of course I did." Zatanna looked at John and tapped him on the arm. He looked at her with a smile on his face, and she smiled back. 

He was kind of cute, in a scoundrelly way. Her heart raced a bit faster, and she found herself blushing nervously. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and turned her attention back to the tome, and pointed out another spell for him to try. They practiced hexes and illusions late into the night, and she promised to teach him more the next day. There was also an unspoken promise between them, one that would last a lifetime, to stick together from that night on. They had saved each other's lives, and would do so time and time again in the coming years. But on that night, in that small motel room in Blüdhaven, their story truly began. 

“So what’s your deal, Constantine? What brings an Aussie to Blüdhaven? Why the interest in magic?” Zatanna asked, wandering over to the window. She opened it a few inches, letting in the cool night air.

“You bloody well know I’m a Brit,” John said, side-eyeing her. “And why does anyone go looking for magic? One day, everything’s normal, the world is just the way your school teachers tell you it is. Then the next day, something happens, and you realize everything you thought you knew was just a lie. Magic, fairy tales, monsters under your bed... they’re all real. And you just can’t help but go down that rabbit hole.” 

He looked at her, and he looked almost vulnerable. Like he had just told her something he had never told anyone before. Odds are, that’s exactly what happened. She nodded her head, thinking about what he had said. It made sense, even though it wasn’t her own experience with discovering magic. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her father, who he was or why she left home. But John had let her in, told her a bit of his own history, so she figured it was only fair to do the same.

“I wonder what it’s like, getting to see the world open up like that to you. My family was steeped in magic since before I was born, so it’s all I’ve ever really known. But I know what it’s like, wanting to learn more. _Needing_ to. But I guess now the two of us are going to be learning together.”

“I ain’t complaining,” John said as Zee joined him back on the bed. “You mind if I ask why you left home?” He asked.

“Take a wild guess,” Zatanna said with a frustrated sigh. “Did your family have the same issue?” John offered a sympathetic look, and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“My family couldn’t care less. Honestly, that was part of the problem,” he admitted. “I’d have almost preferred it if they gave me an excuse to run off. Instead they just kept on as if nothing had changed. They never paid me any mind, and me bein’ trans didn’t change that one bit. I doubt they even notice I’m gone.”

“I would,” Zatanna whispered, without even realizing she was saying it aloud. She looked at him and gave him a hug. “I’m glad I met you, John,” she admitted.

“Glad to have met you too, Zee,” John told her in turn.

Exhausted from everything that had happened that night, Zatanna asked him to unlace her corset, and he obliged. He unbuttoned his shirt and she helped him take off his binder, and they laid down on the bed together, sharing the covers. John wrapped an arm around Zee’s waist and pressed his head against the back of her neck. She smiled into the pillow at the gentle touch. 

They fell asleep beside each other, with the same feeling in their hearts. A feeling that told them they were going to take on the world together.


	3. Closure

Two years traveling together, there was one thing that John and Zatanna had seen to be true time and time again. Star City had the best veggie wraps in the USA. There was a small, hole-in-the-wall style place in Lamb Valley, that no other eatery could beat. 

John propped his feet up on Zatanna’s chair, and she was resting her’s on his. She nudged him with one of her black heels, and chuckled when she looked up at her, a slice of tomato hanging out of his mouth and dribbling juice down his chin. The look on his face was priceless. 

Looking at him wile his face got her to think back to when they had first met. Two years went by fast, and so much had changed in that time. They were older, sure, but more than that. John had proven himself a quick learner when it came to magic, and Zatanna had become rather adept at conning people when needed. John was starting to grow a bit of stubble, something she just loved teasing him over. But when he spoke, when she heard how deep his voice was getting due to the testosterone, it brought a smile to her face. John, as thick as he could sometimes be, had still noticed the ways that Zatanna had changed too. The fact that she didn’t wear breast forms anymore, or the fullness of her cheeks, or the softness of her skin. 

“Where do you wanna go after this?” John asked after finishing his meal. “Back to the motel, or are you up for some debauchery?”

“Oh, debauchery for sure,” Zatanna said. She stood up and brushed a piece of lettuce off of her skirt, and John soon stood with her. He held the door for her, and they stepped out into the night. 

“Where to, mademoiselle?” John asked, gesturing at the city, which was as busy as ever. Monorails whizzed by above the streets while cars and bikes flew on by, and the sounds of conversation filled the air due to all the people out and about, enjoying their Saturday night. 

Zatanna took John by the arm and dragged him down the street, not knowing where she was heading, but wherever it was, she was eager to get there. John smiled as she led him off into the night, paying no mind to anything other than _her_. The way she walked, the way her eyes lit up as she watched the city come alive, the way her hair blew in the breeze, the way her black corset hugged her body...

There were many things that John had learned in the past two years. Lessons in magic and the ways of life. Chief among them was the fact that no man or woman alive could rival his best friend’s beauty. When she stopped dragging him along, when she turned on her heel to face him in front of a magic shop, when the neon lights in the window cast over her and painted her a soft blue, that’s when he knew. 

“There’s this magician performing in town,” John blurted out. “Supposedly, he’s got real magic. Magic like us. I can get us in, no problem. What do you say, Zee?”

“Hm? Sure, why not. Who is it?” She asked, half paying attention as she eyed a talisman in the window display case. Odds are the shop owner didn’t even know they had an _actual_ magical artifact in their possession. 

“Zatara The Great.”

The second that the first word left his lips, Zee’s blood ran cold and the world ground to a halt. She hadn’t heard her father’s name in years. Hadn’t thought of him at all in the past fourteen months. But when John said that name, a part of her regretted never telling him the whole truth about who she was. But even more than that, she knew she couldn’t agree to go to that show.

“No. I-I-I can’t,” she stuttered, her eyes going wide. She trembled slightly, and hoped he didn’t notice. He did. “I mean, I’d really rather we not, John.”

“Huh? Why not?” John looked at her, confused.

“Let’s just head back to the hotel, alright?” She rubbed her arm and looked away from him. He could see how shaken she was. He didn’t know what thoughts were racing through her head, but he was no fool. 

“You know him,” he said, his voice low, far gentler than usual. He reached out, but stopped short of touching her. 

She nodded her head. 

“Is he...?”

Again, she nodded.

“I’m sorry, Zee. I didn’t know, I swear. Yeah. Yeah, we can go back to the hotel.”

She turned to look at him, and he saw the tears welling up in her eyes. He reached out again, and this time he held her in his arms. She cried into his shoulder, finally, after two years, letting it out to him. No words were needed, and none were spoken. He understood just fine. 

••••••••••••••••••••

Zatanna didn’t speak a word when they got back to the hotel. She slipped into the bathroom while John sat on the bed and turned on the tv. He flipped through channels mindlessly, his thoughts stuck on what he had just learned. 

He ran a hand through his hair and thought about going out onto the balcony for a smoke. Every time he thought of Zatanna, two things stuck out. What it must have been like, for her to grow up with one of the world’s most famous mystics for a father, and what it must have been like to be betrayed by that father. When he had run away from home, hopped on a flight to America, he hadn’t felt a thing for his own family. He still didn’t. As far as his heart was concerned, he didn’t have one. Just Zatanna.

But for her, standing in front of the bathroom mirror and splashing water on her face, it was a very different story. She had loved her father, loved assisting him in his shows. She thought back to the first time she had helped him on the stage, how nervous she had been, and how it quickly turned to excitement. They had opened up a tub of ice cream when they returned to their hotel room that night, and she had been completely unable to contain her exhilaration. She thought about all of the good times that they had had, like when he had taught her her first spell. When he had shown her how to speak in reverse. 

But after she had dried her face, when she saw her reflection in the mirror, with all the makeup cleaned off, she thought about the last time she had seen her father. The shame on his face. The way he just walked away, and how he never looked at her the same way after. That look of disappointment had never faded. She glared at her reflection, and she made a decision. She grabbed her makeup bag and set to work.

She stormed out of the bedroom several minutes later, her makeup redone, a fierce look on her face, and a pair of conjured tickets gripped in her hand. John looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Front row seats. Still wanna see a magic show, John?”

••••••••••••••••••••

“You sure about this, luv?” 

“Not in the slightest. But we’re doing it anyway,” Zatanna told John, looking straight ahead.

They were walking into the auditorium where Zatara was set to perform. Or rather, John was walking, hands in his pockets and his face expressionless. Zatanna, however, was marching. She hadn’t let her focus break since they left the hotel. Her heart was racing faster than it had in years. The last time she was that nervous was back when she first performed with her father. She didn’t even know why she was putting herself through it. To confront him? To see if he was happier without her? Or maybe it was because she just needed to see him again. For closure.

They took their seats, center of the front row, and waited for it to start. The lights dimmed, the stage lights flashed on, and with a cry of “Raeppa!” he was standing above them all. A flourish of his cape, a tip of his hat, and some corny joke that went in one of Zatanna’s ears and out the other. 

John watched her the entire time, making sure she was alright. She held her armrest in a white-knuckled grip, and John laid a hand on her arm. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the show was already two thirds of the way through. And John was still watching her. And her father, with the lights in his face, had no idea she was there. But she could change that.

“Ees su,” she whispered. 

And he did. Zatara had just finished turning a deck of cards into a flock of birds, but when he went to flash the audience a cocky smile, he stopped. There were no more lights, from his point of view. Just a young man and woman, sitting in the front row. He faltered, and he blinked in shock as his mind raced to connect the dots. He coughed nervously, and he tried to keep the show going. But with each spell, his gaze kept drifting back to them. It wasn’t too long before it clicked. 

She could see it on his face. The flash of realization. The nervousness, the shame, the sadness. But he soldiered on, he ignored his child, for the sake of the crowd. She expected him to. He never had been the kind of person to end a performance before it was meant to. The grand finale was too important, and it still was. He pulled it off admirably, she had to give him that much. But it wasn’t his finest work. And that was enough to bring a hint of a smile to Zatanna’s face as the show came to a close.

“Worth it?” John asked as they left the theater. It was a sincere question, he knew better than to crack a joke at a time like this. But there was a peaceful look on Zatanna’s face. There was a gentle smile. 

“I think so,” she said. She leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her. But that moment between them wasn’t allowed to last.

From behind them, they heard someone call out a name. And then again, and again, as the caller caught up to them. Each time he said the name, Zatanna flinched, and shrank further into John. John was just about to tell the guy off when Zee tore herself away from him and whipped around to face the man.

“Stop calling me that!” she shouted. “That is _not_ my name! Zatanna! My name is _Zatanna_!”

Her father stopped in his tracks, and he didn’t say anything more. Not until she was finished.

“I’m sorry, I... I didn’t know what to call you. Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands, as if to protect himself from her anger.

“Why the hell are you following us?!” Zatanna clenched her fists and held them at her sides, trying to restrain herself. More than anything, she wanted to slap him across the face. To tear into him for not even attempting to support her. But she held herself back. It helped that John stepped forward to help back her up. He kept a hand on her shoulder and stared Zatara down.

“I wanted to talk to you, to try and make things right between us,” Zatara explained. “After you ran away, I realized that I had made a mistake. I didn’t know what to think when I saw you like that, I was never prepared to deal with... to deal with _that_. But after I realized that I couldn’t find where you had went, I started doing research. I learned what I could about transgender people. I wanted to _understand_ you. I go to a support group now, for parents of transgender kids.”

“Did you tell them that you acted like your child had _died_ when you saw me with a dress?” Zatanna asked, her resentment barely concealed. The question pierced right through Zatara, leaving him looking wounded.

“I did, actually,” he told her. “I don’t hide the fact that I made mistakes. I just want to be a better father to you, Za- _Zatanna_.” He caught and corrected himself before he almost deadnamed her again. “Please, give me a chance?”

Zatanna glared at him, but her gaze softened slightly. She sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. 

“Maybe. I don’t know, okay? We’ll see,” she said. “We can try and see if there’s any fences left to mend.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask,” Zatara said, nodding his head and trying to keep a dignified expression. He looked at John and offered a smile, which wasn’t returned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Are you my daughter’s, er... do you like boys or girls?” He asked Zatanna quickly.

“Both. John is just a friend though,” she told him. She didn’t tell him that she’d like for John to be more than that, he didn’t deserve to know. Maybe if he had been an actual father, maybe then. But he hadn’t. “Look... it’s late, and it’s been a _really_ long night. We’re gonna get going. I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

“Oh. Okay...” Zatara said. John silently waved him off, and then wrapped an arm around Zatanna again as they walked off into the night, leaving Zatara to himself.

••••••••••••••••••••

“You alright, luv?” John asked while he lit a cigarette. He looked at Zatanna with concern etched across his face. The warm, summer night air brushed their skin as they relaxed on the hotel room’s balcony. She hadn’t said a word since after they had left the show. She was just sitting in a wrought iron chair, bunching up the fabric of her skirt in a clenched fist and staring out at the moon. 

“Zee?” He nudged her leg with his knee. She jerked to attention, confused upon being snapped out of her trance so suddenly.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. What did you say?” She asked, still not entirely in the moment.

“Are you alright?” John repeated. He knocked a few ashes off of his cigarette and took another drag.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she told him. She let go of her skirt and leaned forward, propping an elbow up on her knee and resting her chin on her upturned palm.

“Bullocks.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said _bullocks_. You aren’t doin’ fine, Zee. I’m supposed to ask if you’re alright, you’re supposed to tell me you’re not, and then we have a deep, heartfelt chat about what just happened tonight.”

Zatanna opened her mouth to protest, or to argue with him, but she couldn’t find the words. She was too exhausted to argue. Instead, she just looked at him with tired eyes. He flicked his cigarette off the balcony and offered her a hand. When she took it, he pulled her to her feet and looked her in the eyes. 

“The last time I saw my dad, he looked at me like I was some... _thing_ , that killed his kid. Nothing he does will ever be enough to make me forget that.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “Am I selfish for that? For not wanting him back in my life?” Zatanna looked at John, searching for an answer.

“Your dad can fuck himself for all I care,” John said.

Zatanna snorted, and it quickly turned to laughter. She couldn’t help herself. John smirked, happy that he could at least bring a smile to her face if nothing else.

“Seriously, Zee, I mean it. Sure, the bloke feels guilty, but who gives a damn? He never bothered to get to know you. He missed out...” John trailed off, glancing away.

“Missed out on what?” Zatanna asked. She brought a hand up to his cheek and got him to look at her again. 

“Missed out on seeing his daughter turn out to be the best damn witch in this bloody world. You’re beautiful, Zee. Better family than he deserves.”

“Beautiful?” Zatanna repeated. She looked so much more vulnerable in that moment than John had ever seen her before. Not the same kind of vulnerable that he saw when she was dealing with the emotions her father brought about. Not so fragile, but rather, a softer sense of vulnerability. 

“Well, yeah...” John closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Zatanna could see the resolve in them. He had gone two years without telling her the full extent of his feelings, but he was tired of hiding those thoughts. “You’re more than beautiful, Zee. You’re _fucking brilliant_. The first time I saw you, I thought you looked like a goddamn goth princess, and now I know you’re _better_ than that. You’re _you_. How could I not find you beautiful?”

“John...”

“Zee?”

“I really fucking hate you right now,” she said with a chuckle. He looked offended for a moment, before she continued. “You couldn’t have told me that earlier, Constantine? I’ve been sitting around staring at you for the past two years, thinking you were the hottest guy I’d ever met! And you’re telling me that we could have been _dating_ if either one of us had just admitted it before now? You ass!”

She laughed again, and kept laughing, and he quickly joined in. She didn’t quite know how long it was before they stopped giggling, or when she ended up leaning against him, with his hand on the small of her back. John leaned in to kiss her, and she happily returned the gesture. It was a first for both of them, but well worth the wait. When they broke it off, John pulled her inside, back into the bedroom. She unbuttoned his shirt, he pushed up her skirt, and they fell on the bed, her arms wrapped around his body.

They explored each other’s bodies, gently, carefully, nervously and excitedly. More than anything, _passionately_. Each kiss given lovingly. Returned happily. They fell asleep holding one another, Zatanna nestled into John. They fell asleep thinking the same exact thing.

How lucky they were to have met someone so beautiful.


End file.
